“Memories are photographs taken by the heart to make a special moments last forever.” (Unknown)
This week a dear friend of mine had to deal with the loss of a cherished uncle – her father’s brother and the last remaining window into the history books of her legacy.
Regardless of age or circumstance, the death of someone you care about is never an easy thing to process. In fact I’m a firm believer that we never really get over that loss, but rather find ways to cope through it.
But if you’re a person possessing an unselfish character, chances are that you’ve been left an invaluable gift upon someone’s passing, and my friend is certainly one of them.
Memories we store are a series of cherished moments that can be called upon on days when you’re feeling sad and alone, or need a little reminder of happier times and people who always loved you.
Far too often our chaotic schedules and self-serving lifestyles prevent us from forming these cherished moments – denying that friends and relatives deserve our attention, our company and our care when they’re alive and well.
For those individuals who rarely make time for anyone beyond themselves, they will one day turn to the pages of their history book, and find it filled with nothing but empty pages – void of memories of any kind.
And that dear readers is one of the things in life you can never get back once it’s gone.
I know over the next few days my friend will call upon many of those family memories we store as she deals with the loss of her uncle – much as I often do when I think about my grandparents who meant the world to me.
As I said above, the death of someone you care about is never easy to process. But those photographs of the heart – the memories we store – help to remind us just how fortunate we were to share in their life.
Susan B. Anthony once wrote, “Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these.”
